


Silences

by dawnchsr



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnchsr/pseuds/dawnchsr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up/missing scene to Gray-Brown Odyssey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silences

Zeke walked through the pooling rainwater, the rusty colored mud splashing over his boots. The early morning sunlight spilled over the firebase, chasing back the shadows. Even at this hour, it was already miserably hot. The late night rains now steamed in the heat, creating mists that hung low over the elephant grass surrounding the camp.

Zeke nodded to Taylor and Johnson who were coming off of sentry duty and heading for their racks for a few hours of sleep in the muggy shade. He kept walking, circling around what was considered the mess tent. It smelled of coffee, unwashed bodies and wet canvas. Zeke caught a glimpse of Horn just as the kid started to duck under the tent flap with a mug. Roger disappeared inside and Zeke continued on his way.

Firebase Ladybird was starting to wake up.

The sunrises here were a riot of color like Zeke had never seen back in the real world. He couldn’t get over how fast the sun came in either. One moment the sky would start to lighten with false dawn and everything would go quiet in the jungle as if holding its breath. Then the next, the sun would be there. Zeke didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way night and day changed in this sorry excuse for a country.

Percell, Ruiz and Baker were in the showers, teasing each other outrageously as they stood under the water. They called out a greeting to which Zeke nodded in acknowledgement. He skirted the CP, the mud squelching under his boots.

The heat hung like a wet blanket, making the air thick and heavy. Christ, if it was already like this now, Zeke considered absently, by afternoon it was gonna be a cooker. He’d have to keep his eye on the newbies, make sure they drank enough water and took breaks while on those details that had them out in the sun. They had a lot of FNGs since the firebase had been overrun and pretty much destroyed a few weeks back.

Zeke didn’t like thinking about that. About how close they all came to dying. He still wasn’t sure how they had survived, but they did. With sheer determination and a lot of wishful thinking, they somehow pulled through. But a lot of men… kids, really, died that day and Zeke tried not to think about it. Much.

Zeke finally spotted him, finding the L-T where he figured the boy would be. Goldman was shouldered up against a bunker of sandbags, facing east, watching the sunrise. Smoke from his cigarette hung in the damp air. He didn’t look back as Zeke sat down, cradling his rifle in his arms, but Zeke knew the L-T was aware of him. The boy had an uncanny sense of his surroundings all the time- something Zeke hadn’t quite figured out yet about him.

They let the silence fill in around them, Goldman still smoking his cigarette, Zeke watching him from a polite distance that gave Goldman room. The camp continued to come alive behind them. Artillery boomed low in the distance, sounding like thunder on a summer day.

Something had happened several days before. Zeke only had part of the story, Roger’s part. There wasn’t much there either. Zeke was positive Roger held something back- something he didn’t feel was his to tell.

What Zeke did know didn’t sit well with him. The L-T and Horn along with two other soldiers were on the way back from Chu-lai when they hit a booby trap. It had all gone downhill from there with Goldman somehow ending up blind, the VC attacking and eventually Calhoun and Pointer both getting killed. After that, the story got confusing to Zeke- a prisoner, Horn leaving the L-T behind despite being blind… Christ, what was that kid thinking?

What happened after that, apparently only Goldman knew. And he wasn’t talking to anyone about it. Instead he’d gone very quiet upon his return to the firebase. No more snapping and impatience, the flashy temper suddenly muted. He kept to himself, more so than usual. He wanted no one near him, including Zeke.

Especially Zeke.

Zeke had let the boy have his space, assuming he’d come around in a day or two and explain what had happened. But it was going on a week now and Goldman remained closed off. Zeke wasn’t sure, but it somehow felt like the boy was mourning. He was definitely hurting, but over what Zeke couldn’t understand.

He tried to reach out, get Goldman to talk to him but the L-T had carefully steered him away. It was clear he wanted to be left alone. He wanted what had happened left alone.

Zeke had enough of that. It was time to break the silence. Sometimes you had to nudge a little, push here and there. Maybe spark that flashy temper. Hell, if it got the boy talking, Zeke could handle the frigid looks and the angry words because somewhere in there would be what had happened.

Decision made, Zeke got up and walked up closer. Goldman never liked to be crowded. Zeke understood that, even respected it. He wasn't exactly closing him in now, but he wanted Goldman to understood he wasn't there just to keep him company. "L-T."

"You need something, sergeant?" Goldman didn't look at him. He continued to stare off over the jungle at the changing sky.

"No, sir, but I'm thinking maybe you do."

Goldman shot him a closed look, eyes dark and showing Zeke nothing. Something hung between them, along with sticky humidity and cigarette smoke.

"Thought it was time enough to talk about what happened the other day." He didn't need to elaborate, he knew Goldman understood exactly what he was getting at. Zeke leaned back against the sandbag wall, crossing his ankles, cradling his rifle across his chest.

Goldman said nothing. He put the cigarette between his lips and looked back over the jungle. Zeke didn't miss how he tensed up. The boy was now all sharp edges and angles. In the distance, three Hueys skimmed along the horizon, heading from north to south.

Goldman was hurting, bleeding out, Zeke could see that. But over what? He shut Zeke out, shut everyone out, determined to gut his way through it on his own. Like he'd been doing since he got here.

Christ, Zeke regretted how he'd handled this kid. It was clear he didn't trust easily. Zeke almost had it, almost had an understanding but then he threw it all away on that fucking botched mission by bringing Decker in. Hurt, Goldman kept Zeke at a measured distance.

But they had to start somewhere again, didn't they? Goldman couldn't keep doing all this on his own and he didn't have to. If he'd let Zeke in a little. If he could just start to trust him again.

"Horn hasn’t said much. Now I know something went really wrong, L-T. This is way more than Calhoun 'n' Pointer."

"Leave it alone, Anderson. It's done. Two guys are dead and it's done."

"Excuse me for saying so, L-T, but you ain't acting like it's done."

That got him a sharp look as Myron raised his head, eyes shading impossibly dark.

"You don't know what you're digging at here, Sergeant. I suggest you take it somewhere else."

Oh, like that was gonna happen. Zeke met Goldman's angry glare, seeing the pain and fear under it. There weren't many who could meet him eye to eye and not look away after a moment or two. But Zeke rarely backed down from much of anything, including this young man. It was like playing with fire, Zeke knowing he could get singed.

"What I know is that you need to talk about this; get it out in the open, L-T instead of sucking it up 'n' thinking you gotta shoulder this all by yourself."

"Don't treat me like this. I'm not some hick FNG who's all screwed up and I don't need you shoving your lack of respect in my face." Goldman's words were clipped as he pointed at Zeke with two fingers, the cigarette between them.

"No, sir, I'm not saying that. And I got nuthin' but respect here, L-T." Zeke stood up straighter, facing Goldman head on. "But everyone reaches a breaking point, I know that from experience. You don't need to keep trying to handle the entire war by yourself!" Zeke took a step toward him but Goldman put his head up, eyes large and hands fisted. It would be a huge mistake to approach him now. "Christ, can't you trust me enough to help you?"

"I've been dealing with this fucking war since I got here in case you've forgotten, Sergeant. I don't need nor do I want your sympathy." Goldman tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out under his boot. "What, I'm not man enough for you, Anderson? You don't think I can handle all this?" Goldman waved his hand at the camp.

"I know that you've had a boatload of shit dumped on ya since you came in country! And you got it in that fucking head of yours that you don't need anyone to help you. You're gonna man up this entire damned war all on your own, ain't ya?"

"Enough! I don't need you holding my hand, Anderson, despite what you and everyone else thinks."

Zeke paused, staring at him. Goldman still had his head up, every muscle rigid. Now there wasn't only hurt here, Zeke realized. Somehow, in trying to goad Goldman into spilling what happened, he'd managed to insult the boy. Christ, this kid was worse than a mine field.

"Is that what this is about, L-T?" Zeke shook his head, deciding to back down. There was no way he would reach Goldman now. "Fucking Christ, you've got this all wrong 'n' you can't even see it."

"I can see plenty, Sergeant."

"I wish that were true, L-T, I really do." Zeke slung the strap of the rifle over his shoulder, still shaking his head. "We all need a friend here, even you."

*** *** ***

He'd been an ass that morning to Anderson and Myron knew it. He couldn't understand why- what it was about the other man's genuine concern that put him on the defensive? But there it was and before Myron even realized it, he was snarling and spitting at Anderson. The guy had just wanted to talk, didn't he?

Myron sat on his cot, one leg drawn up under him. His quarters still smelled musty and damp from the rains the night before. Evening approached outside, casting the tent in long shadows. He'd grabbed a fifth of scotch he kept in his foot locker and poured a healthy measure into the tin canteen cup. He swirled it around in there now as he watched the smoke from his cigarette hang on the heavy air.

Outside he could hear the camp as it prepared to change from daily tasks to the quieter ones of the night. Several men walked by, laughing and joking and Myron identified the voices as belonging to Percell, Taylor and Johnson. He sipped the warm scotch looking out to the firebase from where he sat.

He wasn't proud of the fact that he'd jumped all over Anderson. But damn, he still struggled to trust him. He found it so hard to give over to him, to trust him as much as he wanted to- needed to. However, Myron still felt like Anderson had sold him out for Decker.

What a mess that had turned into. In the end, it all came down to Myron's responsibility, starting with his willingness to trust Anderson's judgment about Decker in the first place. He should have known better. Damn, he wanted to believe that Anderson wouldn't let him down. Instead Horn had almost been killed.

It had undermined whatever credibility, whatever respect he had somehow managed to earn with his men. Men who still thought that the only way Myron could command was with Anderson hand holding him.

He'd survived after Horn left him behind, hadn't he? Blind and dragging along a prisoner no less. Anderson wasn't there to hold his hand through that fucking mess. Swallowing more of the whiskey, Myron sincerely wished he had been. Why the hell didn't he have Horn bind and gag Li Kiem, leaving her behind in that hut? He should have had Horn guide him so that they both could get to safety.

She might still be alive, looking out over the same sunset he glimpsed through the half open tent flap.

They'd spit like cats at each other. Myron knew his reasons- he had two dead men, he was blind and most importantly, he'd been scared. Looking back at it now, he could see it really wasn't much different for her.

Myron finished the cigarette, crushing it out in the c-rat can on the cot beside him. With one hand he fished the pack out of his shirt pocket and shook one out with a sharp tap on the rim of the cup. Still one handed, he lit up with his lighter before tossing both lighter and pack to the bed next to him. He drew in a deep breath.

He mourned for her and couldn't understand why. Just another gook. She would have killed him, almost did more than once. But wounded, vulnerable and dying, she touched him deeply. Try as he might, he couldn't forget her.

How the hell was he supposed to explain to Anderson that this woman, a VC no less, responsible for the deaths of two of his men was tearing him into tiny pieces? Anderson would think he was insane.

At this point, Myron couldn't be sure he wasn't because none of this made any sense.

*** *** ***

Zeke was field stripping his M-16. He straddled a low wall of sandbags, the pieces laid out in front of him as he cleaned them with a soft rag. The sun was setting, changing the skies to a riot of colors. Sunsets, like sunrises, didn't last long here. He remembered Roger once commenting that they always seemed to be in a hurry.

From the corner of his eye he saw Ruiz and Baker with their rifles, heading for night sentry duty. Ruiz's voice carried on the muggy air, reminding Baker he was still dumb and ugly. He didn't hear Baker's reply.

It was still so fucking hot. It would be a bitch to try and sleep tonight. Who needed Hell when you had Vietnam? Zeke sighted down the barrel before laying it across his lap so he could wipe it down.

"You got a minute, Sergeant?"

Zeke glanced up, startled, finding Goldman standing in front of him. Christ, where the fuck had the kid come from? Goldman shifted his weight, holding a cigarette. The large dark eyes were shadowed and he looked worn and exhausted.

"Always got a minute for ya, L-T." Zeke started to snap the rifle together with barely a glance.

"I wanted to apologize for taking your head off this morning. You didn't deserve that." Myron indicated a spot opposite Zeke on the sandbags and Zeke nodded. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Myron sat, the towel and remaining rifle parts between them.

It had been Zeke's experience as a lifer in the Army that there weren't many officers who'd apologize, right or wrong. But then this kid was different and Zeke had recognized that from day one, despite all the sharp words and anger. There was a helluva a lot more to Lieutenant Myron Goldman than most people recognized.

"I ambushed ya, L-T and I know better than that." Zeke snapped the last piece in place then laid the rifle across his lap. "It's just I've been worried about you and I mean no disrespect to you because of it."

Goldman blew out a long stream of smoke, nodding, but saying nothing. Zeke watched him, gauging him, trying to get the measure of the kid's emotions. He wasn't always an easy read. There was a lot he kept hidden, worked hard to keep buried. Christ, he was all of twenty-one maybe and in Zeke's opinion, had way too much dumped on him since he got here.

He was so damned determined to prove he could gut his way through the entire fucking war on his own.

Zeke wanted so much to show him he didn't have to.

"You gonna tell me what's got you all tied up inside, L-T?"

Goldman slid him a quick glance from under impossibly long lashes. "It's not that simple." He gave a noncommittal shrug.

“No, sir, I didn't think it would be." After all, there was nothing simple about this boy.

Goldman looked at him again, the smoke drifting on the thick air between them. He glanced across the camp to the sunset.

"You ever notice the sunsets here, Sergeant?"

Zeke was caught off guard by the question. He wasn't sure what he expected Goldman to say, but it certainly wasn't this. There were times when the other man would come at him at right angles. Zeke had learned a while ago to roll with it.

"Sure, sort of hard not to. Why you asking?"

"It's not important." Goldman ducked his head, shoving his hand through his sweaty hair. "There was a woman- a VC."

He spoke so softly Zeke almost didn't catch the words. He remained silent, letting Goldman pick his way through at his own pace.

"After I lost my sight, after Calhoun and Pointer were killed..." He trailed off before giving Zeke a quick glance. "Anyway, she'd tried to kill Horn and me. Damn near did. Horn somehow managed to capture her." He stumbled to a halt, struggling for what to say next.

Roger hadn't mentioned the prisoner he'd caught was a woman.

"I made Horn go, wanted him to find help. He left her with me." Myron was staring at the cigarette between his fingers. "I wanted to kill her." He shook his head. "For Calhoun, for Pointer, for the mess I was in…damn, I wanted to kill her." He took a final pull on the cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it out with his boot. He patted himself down, looking for his pack and lighter.

Zeke watched as Goldman finally found his smokes, shaking one out with a sharp movement.

"Did you?" She'd killed their men, blinded the boy. Who would blame him?

Goldman lit up, then shook his head. "I didn't, not exactly. You see-" He sucked in a deep breath, struggling for the words, looking at Zeke with those dark eyes. There was raw pain there now. "She's dead because of me. I didn't kill her, not directly, but I'm no less responsible."

He looked back at the darkening skies, the sunset already fading. "She killed Calhoun and Pointer, she and her VC buddies. She tried to kill me, almost did..."

"What ain't you telling me, L-T?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"You don't know me well enough to make that call." Zeke shifted his weight on the sandbags. "You afraid I'm gonna pass judgment, that you'll say something I won't approve of?"

Swallowing, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Goldman shook his head. "She got wounded, she was dying and I didn't want her to! I wanted to get her help. I don't understand what happened, how it all got turned around the way it did. She killed two of my men and here I was trying to save her."

"There's nothing wrong with that, L-T. You're not a monster, you never were."

"I was when I was blind. You didn't see me then. I could have strangled her, I still don't know why I didn't." Goldman fisted his hand on his leg. "All of this, what happened, it's like this lurid nightmare I can't get my head around. I can't stop thinking about her, I can't stop feeling guilty."

"Why don't you try forgiving yourself first of all? You didn't get Calhoun and Pointer killed, that was the war." Zeke waved his hand in the direction of the jungle. "And you got nothing to be ashamed of about that girl. Ain't nothing wrong with compassion, L-T, nothing at all."

Head down, Goldman said nothing for several long moments. Darkness was blanketing the camp.

"It's just death here, day after day, isn't it?" He finished the cigarette and dropped it beside the first. "What are we doing here?" There was pure misery in his voice.

"I don't know, L-T, I never did. I'm not sure I ever will." He shrugged, Goldman finally looking at him. "It's just the way it is, I suppose."

Goldman nodded, sliding off the sandbags. Zeke climbed to his feet as well. It was clear the boy still hurt, still struggled to put all of what happened in perspective. He looked a final time across the now dark landscape. "We argued, a lot, she and I. About a lot of things. Even the sunsets."

"Sunsets, L-T?"

"She never had time for them. Now it doesn't matter, does it?" Goldman gave him a quick nod before walking away, disappearing into the shadows created by the nightfall.

"Yeah, it matters, L-T. It matters a lot. You just can't see it right now, is all, but you will when you're ready."


End file.
